Comfort in Your Story
by TruthTellerMorrigan
Summary: You've always been drawn to powerful warriors.


"How's it going with Elain?"

Mor continued to scribble her letter to the Hewn City, pointedly ignoring her cousin's question. Amren and Cassian had both asked her versions of the same thing earlier the same day. She could see past their innocent question regarding the meekest Archeron sister. It irked Mor to no end that the busy bodies of the Court of Dreams didn't bother to just ask what was really on their minds. Mor took her pencil and made a final, sharp embellished signature on her letter. She looked up to meet Rhys's stare.

"I'm handling it."

She had most certainly not been handling it, not that she even needed to tell Rhys that. They all knew Mor had been avoiding Elain like the plague. She would check in on the Archeron sisters just to make sure they had the necessities. But every time she met Elain's weepy stare, Mor only saw her own reflection.

Rhys took the seat opposite Mor at the table in which she sat in the war room of the House of Mist. It was rare that Mor wished for the presence of Amren, but at this moment she thought the Drake might actually offer her comfort as she faced down her cousin. Or at least a welcome distraction.

"Nesta has been coming to training regularly," Rhys commented. "She says Elain is still confined to her bed."

"Heartache can inflict worse wounds than a few mere tears on a pillowcase. She can hold her own. Don't let Nesta tell you otherwise." As Mor spoke the words, she knew they were true. Tears were nothing. Tears were the easy part. It was the pain that happened in the dark, suppressed and held back until it became its own new creature entirely. Elain was heartbroken by her mortal lover, yes. But the pain for her was only a small, temporary block. Not everyone was that lucky.

Rhys nodded, then added, "Have you spoken of Lucien?"

Mor leveled a look at her cousin. "She has been crying about her fiancé since she arrived here. When do you think?"

"When the time comes, it will help her to know your history-"

"You can stop there, Rhys," Mor snarled, her words laced with the deep power she kept within her. She gripped the end of the table between them. She felt the sharp beat of her own power rise off her skin before sinking right back below the surface.

"Would you rather me have Amren explain? I'm sure she would. Azriel will probably insist on being there just to keep a watchful eye on my 2nd while she's with his High Lady's only living family."

Mor snatched her letter and pushed away from the table harshly- making the wood scrape against the floor. "You can be a real bastard sometimes." Mor headed straight for the door, only looking back once to snap, "Elain doesn't need a savior." And with that, she left.

Mor would've knocked to announce her presence, but she knew Cassian was sleeping next door. She imagined his face if he heard and caught her in the middle of the night with her knuckle raised against his door, and the idea of it was more than she could stand.

So, she didn't knock.

* * *

Mor instead crept into the Shadowsinger's dark room, and silently closed the door behind her. His windows were open, and her skin bristled against the cold night air. She knew where his bed was even though her eyes hasn't fully adjusted to the darkness in the room yet. She began to walk toward it, squinting her eyes hoping to make out his shape in the shadows.

"You're in the wrong room."

Mor spun around. Azriel was _not_ in his bed, but instead had snuck in through one of the open windows. He closed it as he watched Mor with a side glance.

"Where were you?"

"I needed some air."

Mor didn't envy the Illyrians much about their sadistic fighter lifestyle, but there were times when even Mor was tempted by the desire to have wings just so she could disappear whenever the pain of memories past became too much to bear. Azriel swept his wings tight into his back and swept his leather jacket off with a quick stroke of magic. His eyes watched her as Mor moved around the bedroom. She knew she was fidgety tonight- twisting her fingers and stroking her long hair. And she also knew every single time she moved he was tracing her movements and her steps. His shadowsinger senses had probably already informed him about the state of her unease. It was probably the reason he hadn't insisted she leave his bedroom already. Azriel had always bent his hard and fast rules where Mor was concerned.

"Rhys has been pestering me about Elain again," Mor said, and she huffed down dramatically into one of the large chairs arranged around the ornate decorative fireplace. "I listen to Elain, and I put up with Nesta's attitude. But how much should I be forced to share? He didn't press me to share anything with Feyre when she came to court, and _she_ at least was his mate."

Azriel took a chair beside Mor.

"These women seem to hate me."

Azriel raised an eyebrow.

"Nesta _spat_ on me."

Azriel couldn't help the small tug on his lip. He spoke softy.

"Rhys coming to you may have had something to do with what I told him."

"What?" Mor snapped her head around. "What do you mean?" She pinned him with her dark stare, and he had the good sense to hold her unrelenting gaze.

"I told him that Elain came to me. She asked me questions."

" _What."_ Mor growled the world, her voice low and gravely. She rose off her chair, her body aimed at him, a fighter's pose. Azriel held up his hands. But Mor narrowed her eyes at the spymaster's feigned innocence. She had seen that expression enough times to know the meaninglessness behind it. When Azriel was on a mission to get information, he got it. There was nothing innocent about what had transpired between his conversation with Elain. She had half a mind to walk out of his chambers right then. To slam the door in his face, and go straight to Elain and handle the situation in her own way. But then Rhys would win, and Azriel and his spymaster abilities to make people lose their inhibition would save the day. Mor wanted to smack his beautiful face. "Tell me." An order. From the third in command to a spymaster.

"She asked if I knew Lucien. Wanted to know details about him. Where he lived, his friends, his family..." Azriel trailed off, shadows gathering around his eyes.

"And you told her _what_? That he's bred from savages?" Her voice was harsh. She didn't care.

"I told her the truth. I know Lucien. And I told her about why he ended up in the Spring Court after choosing to leave Autumn. You and I both know the circumstance with his estrangement. It's not something..." He trailed off. "I didn't go into detail with his family. His brothers."

"What else?"

"She wanted to know how mating bonds worked. She was scared, Mor. She didn't know what she owed him. She asked me if she was under an obligation to marry him."

Mor's eyes softened. She had known Elain was scared. Had sensed it every time she had gone to visit the sisters and Elain had been curled up in her bed refusing to talk to anyone, including Nesta. But Mor had chalked it up to Elain being lovesick. A young girl who had lost her dream wedding and a life of safety. Little did she know that those tears had been for a girl concerned about whether The Night Court would be handing her over to a stranger as someone's token bride. Mor shuddered.

"I explained how she has to accept the bond for it to be sealed, and she seemed _somewhat_ comforted by that."

Mor sat back in the chair, and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She swore. After hearing this version of events, it did seem like she would have to have a chat with Elain about the mating bond. She swore again and stood up. "You and Cassian are training with Nesta tomorrow?" Azriel nodded his confirmation and Mor flipped her hair as she spoke again. "Good. I don't want that brute anywhere near Elain when the two of us talk."

Azriel raised a brow. "Cassian has been less harsh recently." _With his broken wings._ He didn't need to add.

Mor snorted. "I was talking about Nesta." Azriel let out a surprised chuckled.

"And _next time,"_ she hissed, closing the distance between her and the shadowsinger in one quick stride. She put her face close to Azriel's in an intimate enough motion that it startled his shadows away completely. "Why don't you come to me first when shit like this happens so I don't bite Rhys's head off?"

Azriel smirked, refusing to let the blonde see him sweat. "And miss finding you in my chambers in the middle of the night?"

Mor smiled. This was a version of Azriel she so rarely got to see around the others. Never when he was on duty reporting for Rhys, and still rare when Cassian and Amren were around. Az was always tense, always watching, always monitoring. But every now and then when Mor got him alone-whether it was out at Rita's or on a side street of Velaris or in the middle of the night like tonight- something would change. His shadows would ease, and joking came more effortlessly, and that impenetrable wall he held in place would slip and Mor would fling herself over it in wild abandon. It was moments like these like made her want to reach out and wrap her arms around him, to hold this picture of him still so she could carry him with her with her always.

Azriel's broke her gaze and pulled away.

But perhaps it would have to be enough that she carried the memories of him. Whenever he needed to comfort herself after a particularly sour day, she would just think about Az. Lucky fae like Feyre would be able to seek the solice of their mate's arms on a bad day. But Mor had stopped believing in luck years ago. So for her, 500 years' worth of memories would have to do. She would think about him that first night they had met all those years ago at the Illyrian Camp. When he had returned in tatters from one of Rhys's more grueling missions, the night he spent with her while she cried over Rhys sacrificing himself to Amarantha.

She was no fool. And when inevitably he did find himself in another female's arm's Mor knew she could always reach back into the centuries worth of love. She would have the touches, the caresses, the looks, the jokes, the way he smoothed back the hair behind her ear, the way she coaxed and stroked his tense fingers to interlace with her own as she convinced him to join him in a dance, the sound of his rough voice when he calls her Morrigan, the times spent chasing away her nightmares with soothing words and a steady embrace, the first time he had sparred her in the ring and she had pummeled him so angrily afterwards because she was convinced he had let her win, the moment during Starfall when he she found herself in his arms she felt his thumb slip beneath the thin silk that rested just above her lower back.

Mor turned her gaze away from her shadowsinger and instead looked to the night sky. Yes, Azriel would take other lovers, but they would never be like her. And she would protect those moments with him until her last breath. And she'd fight every day for the moments that were still to come. 500 years gone and 500 more.

"She is not like Feyre."

Mor spoke the words quietly. She knew Azriel wouldn't interrupt her- it was one of the many things about him that was so comforting. He let her work in her own way, in her own time. "Their resemblance begins and ends in their physicality. Feyre's flame sparked and crackled every time we spoke. Even the first time we met, I could tell exactly why Rhys was drawn to her fight."

"You've always have been drawn to powerful warriors."

Mor leveled a hard look at Azriel. He looked away.

She ignored the shadow that slipped up to curl around his ear, and said, "Elain is a very nice girl."

"You don't see her as a fighter, like Feyre and Nesta?"

Mor shrugged. "Warriors are born out of all sorts of circumstances, and wear many different faces. Perhaps Elain will surprise us all." She walked to Azriel's door, understanding that she was wearing out her welcome in the spymaster's private quarters. He would tolerate more unwelcome surprises from her than Rhys, Cassian, or Amren, but she knew his fuse was only so long. "But I'll be damned if Nesta Archeron thinks she is the one who gets to wield Elain's protection like her Cauldron's damned sword. No one gets to be holier than thou in this court."

Azriel grinned and bowed his head slightly, a gesture from spy to commander. "Spoken like a true warrior herself." He paused, his dark eyes never leaving Mor. She was taking her time. Her footsteps slowed as she made her way to the bedroom door, her movements more hesitant now as they both sensed their time dwindling closer to an end. Azriel shouldn't have said anything. Bidding her goodnight was something he was used to after 500 years. He shouldn't have said anything. And yet...

"She'll find comfort in your story, Mor."

Mor's hand lingered on the bedroom doorknob. She didn't face him, but chose instead to address her words to the floor.

"At least someone will be comforted." She took a deep breath. "Rhys threatened to have Amren tell Elain if I didn't."

"An empty threat."

Mor nodded. She bit her lip and raised her gaze just enough to meet his hard stare, the one that never seemed to leave her no matter who she spoke with or where she was. She didn't need Feyre's knowing glances or Cassian's eyerolls to know when he was watching her across the room. she could feel his stare entwined into her essence mind- like a familiar scent that came and went with the wind. "I've never talked about that time with anyone." _Except you._ She didn't need to add the words.

Azriel walked to Mor. He stopped in front of her and put her hands firmly on her shoulders. "You are in control. Do not for one second forget who holds your fate. Not now, not ever. Do you understand me." It was not a question. Mor didn't answer, and he didn't push her for a response. She wrapped her arms around his middle, and drew him close to her in a firm embrace. There were only so many times Azriel was so unreserved that he would willingly allow himself to unfold around Mor, but when he did, Mor knew how to jump at the opportunity. She closed her eyes and breathed in his scent- so achingly familiar, that it took physical restraint to keep herself from sinking to her knees at the brutality of it. Of him.

"I still think about the day I met you, Morrigan." His words were spoken into her hair so soft and muffled that she almost didn't hear them. She held her breath in order to hear. "I didn't even sleep through the night. My whole body was awake. I knew who you were. What you were." He was speaking so quietly. Too quietly. Mor tried to lean out of their embrace. She wanted to see his face, and read his expression. But the moment she tried to pull back, his arms held her tighter. Mor merely tighter her own hold around him- two pillars leaning on each other for support while they wait out the storm. Mor rubbed circles on his neck. She wished he would keep talking. She hadn't heard him talk about this in centuries.

It was hard to say how long the pair stood like that, holding one another in a moment of weakness. Azriel didn't talk about it again and Mor didn't tell him how much she wished he would. This was not the moment. Maybe it would be there time soon. a few months, or years, or another century. But as Mor made her way back to her own room that night she thought about Azriel's touch on her skin and the way he said her name. And she knew she'd have no nightmares that night as the words "I knew what you were" played in her head over and over again like the most beautiful song ever written.


End file.
